


life goes on.

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1340701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean first meets Castiel, Cas is sixteen years old.  He's too young and too serious and he's Sam's best friend, so Dean tries to ignore him the best he can.</p><p>Life goes on like that.  For a little while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	life goes on.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkippyMcVy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkippyMcVy/gifts).



> so I'm pretty sure I started this early last year and somehow forgot about it, despite the fact I nearly finished it. this was originally supposed to be a 5+1 things fic but that kind of... didn't happen. I hope you lovely readers enjoy. xo.
> 
> dedicated to Abby, who is the awesome Cas to my Dean. xo.

When Dean first meets Castiel, Cas is sixteen years old. He’s Sam’s best friend, a quiet kid who never really developed a sense of humor and who’s far too damn smart for his own good. He sits with Sam at the Winchester’s kitchen table late at night, helping him with math and science and receiving help in history and English in return. He barely speaks to Dean, although occasionally he’ll look up from his homework and smile briefly before ducking back into a physics textbook or a history assignment. 

Dean knows next to nothing about him. But he does know that the kid has a bunch of siblings, knows that he’s got permanent bedhead and crazy blue eyes and stubble that Dean thinks would grate against his palm if he dared to reach out and touch it. He knows that weeks go by where Castiel and Sam don’t speak at all and he knows that they always make up. 

He also knows that there’s something more than mere friendliness hidden in the small smile Castiel sends his way every so often. Finally (and most importantly), Dean knows that the kid is off limits. He’s too young and too serious and he’s Sam’s best friend. So while Dean returns the smiles, he does nothing else. He focuses on his job and on helping run the household and on making sure that Sam is doing okay in school. He doesn’t forget about Cas, exactly; it’s rather difficult to do that when he’s sitting at the table two or three nights a week, murmuring to Sam in his sinfully low voice. Rather, Dean ignores him the best he can.

Life goes on.

***

Castiel is seventeen before Dean really pays him more than a passing thought or gesture. It’s a summer night and Sam is at some party to celebrate graduating high school. Dean knows that Sam is perfectly capable of handling himself; their mother, on the other hand, is not so sure. So it’s midnight when Dean finds himself pulling up to a house on the outside of town, all the lights turned on, music up full blast, kids spilling out of the front door and onto the lawn. Sam is not among them and so Dean heads on inside, pushing through the sweaty masses of underage kids, stepping over bottles and cans, looking for Sam’s head above the crowd.

He doesn’t find Sam but he sure does find Cas.

“Dean!” The gravelly voice comes from his right and he spins to find Cas stumbling towards him, tripping over someone’s foot and crashing against Dean’s front. It’s impossible to tell if he’s been drinking heavily (the entire place smells like alcohol and pot and sweat and cologne) but he has a wide grin plastered on his face that Dean doesn't recognize. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to Cas and when he shifts with the crowd, the back of his knuckles brush over Castiel’s cheek. The stubble grates against his hand, just like he knew it would and he swallows heavily, stepping away as far as he can.

“Cas, where’s Sam?” he asks, yelling over the speakers, which are blaring some godawful dance track. Cas shrugs and when he leans in to speak, Dean can smell something sweet on his breath. 

“I don’t know. Last time I saw him, he was heading upstairs with a girl. Should we go look for him?” Even though he can practically feel his mother’s glare on his back, Dean shakes his head, grinning despite himself. Way to go, Sammy. 

“Nah, leave ‘em be. I’m gonna go hang out in the car till they’re done. See you later?” 

“I’ve got a better idea.” With that, Cas’ fingers wrap around his wrist and start tugging, effortlessly pulling Dean through the crowd and towards the stairs. Dean’s stomach is doing something weird, lurching more and more with each step Castiel drags him up. He’s pretty sure that him and Cas have exchanged maybe fifty words in the last year but nonetheless, he lets Cas pull him into a small bedroom, the bed of which is already occupied by a couple who have already ripped off nearly all their clothes. 

“Get out. Now.” Never has Dean heard Cas speak so forcefully and he’d be lying if he said that he _didn’t_ find the tone of voice remarkably arousing. The man opens his mouth to say something but Castiel’s shoulders stiffen and his blue eyes seem to darken and the man's mouth shuts again. Castiel stares at them until they’re fully dressed and when they leave the room, he locks the door behind them. 

Dean’s stomach is _definitely_ doing something now. 

“Cas, what’re you doing?” he asks, leaning against the door frame, trying to sort out the twisted emotions that have taken up residence in his head. Castiel shrugs and sits on the edge of the bed, his feet drumming off of the carpeted floor. 

“I’d like to ask you something, if that’s okay.” Dean nods and crosses his arms, well aware that his fingers are jittering. Castiel takes a moment and when he looks up, his eyes have darkened even more. He looks like he’s barely controlling himself and even though Dean’s been with a lot of people, he’s never seen anyone get so worked up about him.

Does wonders for a man’s ego, he has to admit. 

“Could I suck your dick?” The question knocks him completely off guard for a moment but truthfully, he doesn’t know why. Sam has mentioned Castiel’s bluntness on more than one occasion, told Dean stories about how his best friend was seemingly incapable of lying or beating around the bush and besides, he'd known that Castiel's smiles weren't just friendly, had known that deep in his gut. Cas sits patiently on the edge of the bed, his eyes the only sign that he’s asked anything more remarkable than the way to the local grocery store. After a long, long pause, which Dean spends weighing the pros and cons, he finally mutters _fuck it_ and nods, leaning his head back against the door. 

Cas is immediately on his knees in front of him, pressing his nose into the juncture of Dean’s pelvis and thigh, splaying his fingers on Dean’s legs. His breath is warm even through a layer of denim and Dean closes his eyes, wanting but unable to look at the jailbait that is so eagerly kneeling before him. 

It’s only when Castiel has finished fumbling with his buckle and has his jeans tugged down around his knees that Dean realizes he’s muttering words into his hipbones, into his leg. He can’t hear them, not over the voices and music just beyond the door but he can feel Castiel’s lips moving, whispering up the inside of his thigh and over his cock until the words stop and all he can feel is Castiel’s wet mouth surrounding him. 

The blowjob itself is… well, it gets the job done. When all is said and done and Dean has the energy to stand up again, he zips himself back up and exits the room while Castiel is in the tiny ensuite bathroom, rinsing out his mouth. He finds Sam at the bottom of the stairs, neck littered in hickies, obviously drunk and grinning like an absolute idiot. Dean manages to get him back out to the car and it’s only as they’re pulling away that he sees Cas silhouetted in the open doorway of the house. Dean swallows down the lump in his throat and drives away without looking back. 

Four days later, he hooks up with a girl who comes in to the garage to get her car fixed. A week after that, he gets a hand job behind a bar from a man he beats at pool. By the time Sam leaves for Stanford, Dean has essentially blocked out the memory of how eagerly Castiel had dropped to his knees.

As it so often does, life goes on.

***

It’s not until Thanksgiving that Dean sees Castiel again. He picks his younger brother up at the Greyhound station and when they pull into the driveway, Cas is sitting on the front steps, wrapped up in a beige trench coat, hands clasped between his knees. As soon as he sees Sam, he stands up, brushing off his black slacks. He looks like a damn accountant and now that Dean thinks about it, he thinks that Sam might have mentioned something about Castiel getting an office job.

Dean doesn’t get a chance to ask about it, however, because Castiel brushes right by him like he doesn’t exist and hugs Sam tightly. When he finally lets go, he takes Sam’s duffle bag and strides past Dean again, sparing not even a glance in his direction. Dean shrugs and tries to tell himself that he isn’t bothered by it. After all, Castiel is just a stupid kid, a kid he fooled around with once. That was all. 

He’s always been good at lying to himself but he can’t quite swallow this one down. It sits, heavy in his stomach, for the rest of the night. When it’s one o’clock in the morning and he can’t sleep, he tiptoes past his parent’s bedroom and down the stairs to where Castiel is camped out on the couch, watching old Star Trek episodes, his feet tucked up into a pair of Sam’s pajama pants. He doesn’t look up at Dean but he does move over so that they can sit side by side, the old television bathing them both in flickering light. Dean usually doesn’t mind silence but this isn’t the comfortable kind; it’s weighted down, heavy with things unsaid and finally, he clears his throat, pointedly staring at Castiel until Cas turns his head to look back. 

“Yes, Dean?” 

“What were you saying that night?” Castiel tilts his head, brow furrowing but before he can say anything, Dean rushes to clarify.

“Y’know, that night at the party. You were sayin’ things while you were... I mean, I could tell. What were you saying?” Castiel chuckles quietly and the sound is a sad one, laced with pity and possibly a bit of derision. 

“Would you _really_ like to know, Dean?” Dean nods once and suddenly, he’s flat on his back, a knee pressing into his thigh, Castiel’s fingers wrapped around his wrists in an iron grip. When they’re pressed this close, Dean can feel how much muscle is packed into Castiel’s frame, can feel the pure strength that he possesses. The boy he used to know has definitely turned into a man and Dean suddenly feels like he’s in _way_ over his head. 

“If I remember correctly, I think most of it was the word please, along with your name. There was a lot of that. Let’s see…” His fingers grip tighter and Dean knows he’s going to have a fun time explaining the bruises that are definitely going to form there. 

“Oh, I remember.” The words are laced with pure venom and Dean has a hard time reconciling the fact that the man who is on top of him, eyes blazing with anger, is the same boy who once sat at their kitchen table and helped Sam pass physics.

“I said _thank you_. That was the other thing.” With that, Castiel pulls back and releases Dean’s wrists, letting them flop back against the couch. He’s still on top of him though, knee still pressing into the flesh of his leg, watching him like a hunter would watch a deer. Dean doesn’t think that he’s ever felt so exposed, felt like someone was seeing down into his soul. Castiel shifts slightly and his knee moves, falling onto the couch so that he’s straddling Dean, eyes still blazing at him. Dean knows he should move, should shove Cas off of him and get away from the situation but what he _knows_ he should do and what he _wants_ to do are very, very different things. 

He meets Cas halfway, hands going up to tug through his permanent bed head, the corner of his ragged lip splitting from the force of the kiss. Castiel’s fingers press against him, bruising wherever they touch, dragging down his neck and over his collarbone and against his ribs. Soon, it’s his palms doing the touching, fitting against his hips and when Dean arches up against them, Cas growls in the back of his throat. 

“Cas, I’m sorry for-“

“Don’t, Dean. It’s too late for that.” Despite the anger that obviously lingers behind his words, Castiel continues kissing Dean, never staying in one spot for long. It’s only when he stays around Dean’s collarbone for a few moments that Dean manages to seize his chance; he sits up and after some quick (and awkward) finagling, he has Cas pinned against the opposite end of the couch. Cas is breathing heavily, nearly panting and the light from the television plays off of his cheekbones and when he swallows, his skin grows taut over his Adam’s apple. Dean is pretty sure it’s the best sight he’s ever taken in and he doesn’t waste any time. He bites down on Castiel’s jawbone, drags his thumbs over his hips, runs his tongue over the stubble on his neck until his mouth feels raw and sore. When it reaches that point, he slides down the couch a little further, toes digging into the other armrest, using his nose to push Cas’ shirt up to the bottom of his ribs. 

When he glances upwards, Castiel’s jaw is set but the anger seems to have melted from his face. He looks a lot younger and for just a second, Dean’s stomach lurches in an unpleasant way. He knows that Castiel isn’t a kid anymore, knows that he’s legal but he can’t help but feel… wrong all of a sudden. 

He shakes his head, willing the thoughts out of his mind, and continues on his journey down Castiel’s body, grasping the waistband of the pajamas he’s wearing in his teeth and snapping them back against his skin. When he sits back for a moment, adjusting his legs on the couch, he can see a tiny wet spot where Cas has leaked through the fabric of Sam's pajamas pants. 

“Sorry Sammy,” he mutters before leaning back over, taking a deep breath and pressing his mouth against that tiny wet spot, sucking the head of Castiel’s cock through the fabric. Cas’ hands fly to Dean’s hair, tugging it into unruly spikes, gasping and moaning deep in the back of his throat. It’s only a matter of minutes before the pajamas are completely soaked through and Cas is keening, his hips twisting against the couch. 

“Dean, I want you to fuck me.” The profane word sounds bizarre in Castiel’s mouth and it makes Dean’s stomach lurch again. He kisses Cas’ hip one last time before shuffling back up his body, making sure that his limbs don’t squish Cas. 

“Not like this,” he says quietly and he can see Castiel’s mouth drop open so he rushes to clarify. “If you still want that in the future, then we’re going to do it right. But for now, just let me repay you for what you gave me already, alright?” After a moment of deliberation, Castiel nods and Dean smiles, swallowing heavily. 

“Good. Now try and hold still, or I’m gonna have to hold you down angel.” 

Dean’s pretty sure that Castiel doesn’t try at all. His hips buck upwards and his hands are constantly on the move, alternating between Dean’s hair and the couch cushions. It’s only when he comes down Dean’s throat that he stops moving, muscles locked, whimpering quietly. Dean licks him dry and places a kiss beside his navel before he straightens up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“You gonna be okay?” Castiel’s eyes are closed but he nods slowly, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Sleep well, Dean.”

“Night Cas.” 

It takes Dean a long time to fall asleep that night and when he wakes up late the next day, mouth dry and still tasting like come, Castiel is gone. Sam says that he had to go back to work but Dean can see, plain as day, that his brother is neglecting to tell him something. Still, he doesn’t bother to pursue it. It isn’t that important. 

After Sammy goes back to school, life goes on, but not with the ease it previously possessed.

***

In the dead of winter, on his way home from work, Dean passes by a beige sedan parked on the shoulder of the road. He doesn’t recognize the vehicle and there doesn’t seem to be anyone around so he just keeps going, the incident quickly leaving his head.

Five minutes later, he sees a man in a beige trench coat slogging through the ankle deep snow at the side of the road and he slams on the brakes. 

“Cas!” he yells out the window. Castiel turns his head slowly, reluctantly and for a few moments, Dean thinks that he’s just going to keep walking. But finally, he turns and slides into the car, looking quite a sight with his soaked trousers and upturned collar. He’s gotten scruffier since the last time Dean saw him and his hair is even more of a mess, though Dean thinks most of that is probably from the weather. 

“What happened to your car?” he asks after at least five minutes of almost smothering silence. Castiel shrugs, his arms crossed over his chest like a pouting child. 

“I have no idea,” he says. “I never learned much about how to take care of the thing. It just died.” Before he can even think, Dean starts laughing, the noise billowing out of his chest like a bad cough. After a few seconds, Cas turns his head to glare and for some reason, that makes Dean laugh even harder. It gets so bad that after only a few minutes, he pulls over and lays his head on the steering wheel, shaking with laughter.

“I really don’t see what’s so funny,” Castiel mutters and Dean quickly wipes the tears away that have formed at the corner of his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he finally manages to say. “Just you, Cas. Just you.” 

Cas doesn't say anything and Dean has a feeling that he stuck his foot in his mouth (somehow) so for five minutes, they sit in silence, Dean nervously tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he drives. It's only then that he realizes he has no idea where Castiel lives now but as he opens his mouth to ask, Cas interrupts him, clearing his throat. 

“You can just drop me off at the diner,” he says and Dean doesn't even have to question which diner he's speaking of. He picked Sammy up from it numerous times when he was in high school, at all hours of the day, Cas always at his side. After a few more minutes, he pulls into the parking lot, harsh lights blaring from the interior of the building. There's no other vehicles around and Dean turns the engine off, his stomach churning like he's a fucking kid with butterflies all over again. Castiel doesn't get out immediately; he sits with his hands in his lap, head down, breathing audible in the otherwise silent car. 

“Cas.” Castiel looks up at that, tilting his head sideways. Dean has the mannerism memorized from seeing it so many times, from seeing Cas at the kitchen table, confused over something Sammy was trying to teach him. 

“Yes Dean?” Dean swallows, words stuck in his throat. Castiel just keeps staring at him and the longer he stares, the harder it is for Dean to remember what he planned on saying. 

“Fuck it,” he finally mutters, before sliding across the seat and kissing Castiel, kissing the kid he's seen grow up, kissing the one who won't get out of his fucking head for reasons he can't figure out. The lapel of his trench coat is damp underneath his fingers and Cas tastes like something minty and he's kissing Dean back, hands pressed against his neck, stubble grating against his face. They kiss until Dean can't breathe any longer and he has to pull away, his swollen lips gasping for air. When he finally manages to open his eyes, he sees that Cas still has his closed. His mouth is still open, glossy with spit. After a few long moments, his eyes flicker open and he looks at Dean in a way Dean has seen once before, in a random bedroom at an underage party, right before Cas had asked _could I suck your dick?_

But before Dean can lean back in, Cas has his seat belt off and he's out of the car, trudging towards the diner without even a glance backwards.

It takes Dean a long time to get moving again and even then, he hardly remembers the drive home. He does it reflexively, his mind completely occupied by Cas and whatever the fuck had happened. Even after fifteen minutes, he still doesn't understand any better and he decides to try and stop thinking about it. 

It doesn't work. When he goes to bed, he tosses and turns until his sheets are twisted around his knees and he's covered in sweat. He gets back up after an hour, walks to the kitchen in his boxers and drinks beer until his eyes are so heavy that he can hardly make it back up the stairs to his room before he passes out.

In the weeks that follow, life goes on, under the guiding hand of alcohol.

*** 

It's three days after Christmas when Dean receives a call on his cell phone from a number he doesn't recognize. He glances at it for all of two seconds before returning his attention back to the Star Trek rerun that's on.

Less than ten seconds after the phone stops ringing, it starts again. It's the same number and this time Dean picks it up, turning the volume down on the television as he answers the call. 

“Who is this?” he starts to say, but he hardly gets the first syllable out before he's being interrupted by a gravelly voice that he knows all too well by this point. 

“Dean, I need you to come get me.” 

“Really, Cas?” Before he can bite back his words, they come out, the anger swelling in his chest. “Really? No explanation about what happened? Nothing?”

“Dean, _please_ ,” he says and it's the sheer desperation in his voice that makes Dean shut up. He sighs heavily, runs a hand through his hair and grabs a pair of jeans off of the floor, tugging them up over his boxers. 

“Alright Cas, where are you?”

Castiel gives him the name of a fancy restaurant downtown and when Dean pulls into the parking lot twenty minutes later, he's leaning against a lamp post, hair sticking up in every direction, ever-present trench coat wrapped tight around him. He looks nervous and downright _scared_ and Dean's barely stopped the car before he's clambering into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. He smells slightly like cologne, cologne that doesn't suit him at all and Dean only has to look back and forth between the restaurant and Castiel's combed hair before two dots connect in his brain. 

He can't be positive, but he thinks Cas just used him to get out of a date.

“Cas, what's-” The rest of his words get cut off because Castiel slides across the seat and kisses him, fingers gripping the back of his neck and Dean doesn't even think about not kissing back. He does remember to shift the Impala into park before he grabs Castiel's lapels and tugs him even closer, nipping at his bottom lip. When they pull away to breathe, it takes him a moment to remember how to speak. 

“Cas, what the hell is going on?” he finally manages to say, still so close to Castiel that he's breathing the same molecules of air. 

“Dean, I want you to take me home,” he says, glancing up from beneath his eyelashes and oh. There's no doubt that he wants Dean to go with him. He still has no idea what is going on but it sure beats the hell out of yet another night spent with beer and Star Trek and so he gives Cas another quick kiss and shifts back into drive, hyper-aware that Castiel is still touching him, legs drawn up onto the seat, hand on his thigh like he thinks Dean is going to pull a fast one on him. The only time he speaks is when he tells Dean where to turn; other than that, he is silent apart from his breath. When they reach the apartment building Castiel lives in, that silence continues, even as he slides out the door and leads Dean towards the entrance. 

Christ, what is he doing here? What the hell is going on? Cas has given him absolutely no explanation but he's still going along with it, letting Cas tug him up the stairs (for the second time in his life) and worst of all, he doesn't care. He doesn't really care what Castiel's explanation is because really, it doesn't matter. None of that matters. 

Castiel gets the door of his apartment open and for a brief moment in time, Dean thinks that they're good, that they'll just sit down and talk about whatever the fuck they've got going on, because lord knows that's going to have to come up at some point. Instead, as soon as the door is shut, Dean's getting shoved back against it and Cas is kissing him like it's going out of fucking style, fingers yanking at his hair, lips and tongue sliding against his own. Dean gives back as good as he gets, running his hands up Cas' side and over his shoulders, shoving that damned trench coat to the floor. His suit jacket, already unbuttoned, quickly follows but before Dean can get rid of any more of Castiel's clothing, the younger man is moving away, one of his fingers hooked into the belt loop on Dean's jeans so that he has no choice but to follow.

“Where are we going?” he asks, quickly glancing around Castiel's apartment as he's pulled through it. Cas stops in the darkened doorway of what Dean assumes is his bedroom and he spins around, staring up at Dean with those goddamn eyes. 

Dean remembers when those eyes had contained only innocence in them and for a brief moment, he feels like he's been sucker-punched.

“You said that if I still wanted it, you'd fuck me in the future,” he says, the words completely blunt. “Remember?” Dean nods because frankly, that's not a promise you ever forget making and it's one that has been occupying his mind for months, playing on a loop when it's two AM and he can't sleep because the house is echoing with his thoughts.

“I want you to. Tonight.” 

“You sure?” Dean asks, swallowing over the lump in his throat, glancing down at where Cas still has his finger wrapped around his belt loop. “Cause-”

“ _Dean._ ” Dean knows that tone too well, knows that it means there is no room for argument and hey, if that's what Cas wants, if Cas wants him, then he'll do his absolute best to provide. It's the least he can do, after all they've been through.

Castiel's bed is incredibly narrow, a bachelor's bed if he's ever seen one and Dean spends ten seconds trying to figure out the logistics of how they're both going to fit on it but then Cas is pushing him back against the headboard and climbing into his lap, knees almost falling off of the bed. There's light from a streetlamp coming through the thin curtains and it isn't very much but it's enough for Dean to make out Cas' face. It's enough to see how his mouth falls open when Dean glides his teeth over his collarbone, to see his eyelashes flutter against his skin when Dean presses his palm against Castiel's cock through his thin trousers. 

It's nothing like Thanksgiving. Dean isn't quite sure if Cas has forgiven him (for what? Well, for everything he supposes) but he doesn't seem angry anymore. His fingers still bite into Dean's shoulder, his knees still dig into his legs but it's not out of rage; it's desperation and Dean recognizes it all too well in the way his own hands grip Castiel's hips. Cas tears at his clothes, sending the components of his suit flying across the room and when Dean starts tearing at his own with equal fervor, he knows this isn't just about following up on a promise anymore. He's doing this because he fucking wants to. Maybe he's wanted this since Cas was sixteen, all rumbling voice and intense blue eyes. He doesn't really know anymore and truth be told, figuring it all out really isn't at the top of his docket. 

Cas slides off of Dean's lap long enough to shuck off his trousers and tug off Dean's worn denim and then he's completely naked, warm in Dean's lap, pressing a bottle of lube into Dean's hand. 

“Cas, you ever done this before?” he asks into the dark, swallowing past the lump in his throat. 

“No.” Castiel's voice is a low murmur laced with all sorts of implications and Dean wants to find out every single one of them. “Wanted it to be you.” He says the words against Dean's ear and fuck, Dean didn't think it was possible for the situation to get any more deep but there it is. It's not like Cas is an ugly guy (far from it) and Dean knows without a doubt that there had to have been guys and girls practically begging for him; the fact that he'd (probably) been on a date tonight only serves to prove that. Yet he's waited for Dean and Dean really doesn't think he deserves this but he certainly isn't going to pass up the opportunity.

“Tell me if it hurts, 'kay?” he says, wrapping his arms around Castiel's lower back and pulling him as close as possible because it's becoming more and more evident that he doesn't want to let go of this boy, ever. “Don't want to hurt you.” 

“I trust you,” Cas murmurs against his mouth and yep, Dean is officially fucked. 

Somehow, they both manage to fit on the bed once they've collapsed, covered in sweat, chests spattered with cum. Dean usually isn't one for cuddling but even though he's hot and feels disgusting, he stretches his arm out across the bed and lets Cas lie on his shoulder, his fingers brushing back and forth over his hipbones. Castiel had opened the window and there's a cold breeze brushing over Dean's fever-warm skin and he can't tell if the shivers running up and down his spine are from the cold or from the way Castiel is touching him like he's a precious porcelain thing, worthy of reverence.

“Why me?” Dean asks after a few long moments, because his mind won't stop thinking about it. He simply can't figure out why Cas would want him to be the first person he slept with, after all the horrible ways Dean has treated him, after the way he'd brushed him off like he was no more than a kid. Castiel's fingers don't stop their movements and he stays quiet for a very long time and while he waits for an answer, Dean listens to the sound of the wind and the slushy noise of cars making their way down the snowy streets. 

“I don't know,” Cas finally says, the words pressed into the dip of Dean's collarbone. “Maybe because... because no matter how much I tried to hate you, I couldn't. I'm usually good at hating people, Dean, but with you, I couldn't.” 

“I deserved it though,” Dean sighs, his fingers twisting through the soft, downy hair behind Cas' ear, “God Cas, I was such an asshole to you.”

“I know,” Cas replies and the fact he doesn't try to deny it makes something deep inside Dean's chest flicker and ignite. “Trust me, I know, Dean. But I still can't hate you.” 

“Good.” Dean knows it's selfish, knows that Cas deserves better, so much better than him. He should be sliding out of Cas' bed, should be hightailing it back home and forgetting that it ever happened, just like he'd tried to forget about the party and Thanksgiving. But maybe it's because he's getting older or maybe it's because Cas has somehow managed to worm his way into the parts of his chest he can't reach to carve out, but he's gotten bad at erasing things from his mind, even when they're things that he'd be better off forgetting. 

“I don't hate you either,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth into Castiel's hair. “Never have, Cas.” 

He falls asleep like that and wakes up to rays of gray December sunlight seeping through the thin curtains over Castiel's window. He's got goosebumps on seemingly every inch of his body and there's a kink in his neck and Castiel's hand is still clamped to his hip. Dean knows that this is the last chance he'll have to escape. He's sure that if he stayed quiet and moved slow enough, he'd be able to get dressed and get out the door without Cas stirring. The roar of the Impala might wake him up but by that point, Dean would already be well on his way.

He knows all of this, but the thought of actually doing that, of leaving Cas behind once again so he can go drown his sorrows in more anonymous sex, it doesn't sound appealing at all. It makes his stomach churn and his head spin so unpleasantly that he has to shut his eyes. He's treated the kid like crap for years, used him and run away from him because he was too fucking afraid to deal with his own thoughts. He's sick of running away. He's sick of being a goddamn coward. 

So while he does get out of Cas' bed, he only goes as far as the window. Castiel stirs when he pulls it shut with a click and when he murmurs _Dean?_ quietly, Dean knows that he's made the right choice. 

“I'm still here,” he says, sliding back into the bed and pulling a blanket from the floor over them. He adjusts the position of his head so that his neck doesn't cramp any further but aside from that, he settles himself back into the same position he'd woken up in. 

The sound of Castiel's breathing quickly lulls him back to sleep.

***

The years go by quickly, as they often seem to do.

By the time Dean is pushing thirty, there is oil permanently stained into his cracked hands and his arms are littered with scars of all sizes. Cas still knows next to nothing about cars. He's been working as an accountant for years and it's not uncommon for him to fall asleep at their kitchen table, head on his arms, surrounded by forms filled with numbers and jargon Dean can't even begin to decipher.

They've managed to save up enough for their own place. It's not much; it's a tiny house on the outskirts of town but it keeps them close to Dean's parents and it was cheap and more importantly, it's _theirs._

In six years, they've only broken up twice and Dean is quick to admit that both times were his fault, both times the result of him drinking too damn much and saying some shit he didn't mean and being a complete asshole. After the second time, when he'd stumbled back to the shitty apartment they'd been living in after being on a bender for four days, Cas had been sitting on the kitchen counter, surrounded by liquor bottles and beer cans that Dean had been stashing in their fridge. While Dean had been standing in the doorway, almost too drunk to stay on his feet, Cas had tipped every single one out and stared Dean directly right in the eyes while he'd done it.

Dean had started drinking coffee a lot more after that and even though the dentist told him his java habit was starting to affect his teeth, it was better than losing Cas.

Sure, even now that he's kicked the booze and they've got an actual home, things aren't perfect between them and Dean isn't stupid enough to think that they'll ever be perfect. Real relationships don't work that way. If Cas ever decides to leave him for good (which is something Dean is afraid of, every single day), he knows that it wouldn't be the end of his world. Somehow, he'd be able to get by.

Dean knows that, when Cas isn't with him, his life will still unfurl. But the road is so much better when he's got Cas beside him and the main regret he has, even above the alcohol, is that it took him so goddamn long to realize that.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


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